Pennies For Christmas
by Phx
Summary: The heart of a child at Christmas. WeeHardys.
1. Chapter 1

_**For Alaina: Merry Christmas, my dear friend. If I could, I would wrap the Hardys up in a big box for you and have them flown to you in Tracy 1 under watcheful guard of rock salt and Winchesters… but I can't. This is the best I can do.**_

**Pennies For Christmas**

Six-year-old Joe Hardy was the most excited kid in all of Bayport. Today was Christmas Eve and after a whole year of working extra hard to be good, he was _positive_ Santa Claus was going to bring him just what he'd been asking for all year. A brand new bike of his own. One that his big brother, Frank, had never even owned.

"What you smiling about?" his older brother asked as they trudged along the busy city street as their mother took along on some last minute shopping. It was cold outside and both boys were nicely bundled up against the weather. At seven, Frank had earned the right to walk by their mom's side while Joe still had to hold her hand. It didn't' stop him from trying to walk on the bigger piles of snow that the snowplows had pushed against the sidewalks though.

"Nothing," Joe beamed then scowled as his mother tugged him closer to her side again. His face light right back up again a second later as he elaborated, never able to keep a secret from Frank, "I just know what Santa's going to bring me this year, that's all."

"What?" Frank teased, his dark brown eyes dancing with mirth. "A lump of coal?"

"Nope," Joe was in too good a mood to let his brother bait him. "A brand new bike. And not one of yours this time!"

"What's wrong with one of my old ones?" Frank demanded, his face pinched from more than the cold.

"Nothing," the younger boy rushed to assure him (he hated it when Frank was mad at him). "Just this one will be mine and mine only. I've been extra good all year so he has to get it for me. He has to!"

Frank frowned as eyed the younger boy. "What about the gum you put in Iola Morton's hair last week?"

"What about it?" Joe asked trying to climb another bank, his mother's arm stretched as far as she'd let him.

"That'll put you on the naughty list for sure."

"Nuh uh," Joe denied, once again reigned back in. He really hated having to hold hands and wished their dad wasn't working so he could have stayed home with them instead of being dragged along boring shopping with their mom. "It was a dare. Dares don't count as being bad."

Frank raised an eyebrow in disbelief.

"I asked Tony who asked Biff who double checked with Chet. So I'm good."

This time the older boy looked confused. "And that makes it okay?

"Well, no," Joe explained with an exaggerated eye roll, he didn't understand Frank some days. His older brother was usually pretty smart. "But Iola's his sister and he said it was okay so that makes it okay."

Frank was quiet for a few minutes as they stopped on a street corner and waited for the light to change before crossing. Their mother smiled down at them and promised they were almost done.

Once they were on they across the street, he was looking at Joe again. "Well what about the paste eating thing yesterday?"

Joe was truly baffled. "What about it?"

"That wasn't good," Frank sounded triumphant. Didn't he want Joe to get his bike?

"Mom said we weren't going to talk about it. She didn't even tell Daddy when she was talking to him last night!" Their father, an up and coming detective was on a highly secret job right now and they hadn't seen him in three days. He did call each night though to say good-night and promise he'd be home before Christmas.

"It's still bad." Frank announced. "Probably even worse because we aren't supposed to talk about it."

Joe thought about that for a few moments. Frank did have a point. And it was definitely not something good little boys did but –

And then he grinned. "Yeah but if Mommy isn't going to talk about it then how is Santa going to know?"

"Because '_he sees you when you're good and he knows you when you've been bad_," Frank singsonged and Joe really wanted to kick him but he'd have to wait until their Mom wasn't standing right there.

"Boys," their mother's voice softly warned. She'd probably picked up the hostility vibes Joe was shooting his brother.

"You're just jealous," Joe decided, his lip pulled out in a big pout.

"Jealous?" Frank started at him incredulously. "Of what?"

"Of me getting a new bike. What'd you ask for? Books?"

The sheepish look on his brother's face had the six year old laughing. "Really? Books? What's so cool about books? You can't ride a book!"

"I don't need to ride a book," Frank scoffed. "And they're not dumb."

"I didn't say they were dumb," Joe laughed.

"Yeah, well, at least I can read my books right away, you can't ride your bike in the snow!"

That made Joe frown. He hadn't really thought about that… but before he could dwell on it for more than a moment, he saw an old man sitting on the cold ground in an open doorway. The man wore tattered clothes and held a small tin cup in his hand. Dark glassed concealed his eyes as a big sign saying 'BLIND' was propped near his feet.

Joe resisted his mother's pull on his hand, suddenly transfixed by the man.

"Don't stare," his mother hissed softly as she obviously saw what had caught his attention. "It isn't nice."

"What's he doing?" Joe asked quietly, never having seen a homeless person before. "Why's he sitting in the snow? His bum must be cold."

"Joe!" his mother scolded quietly and then sighed. "He's homeless, sweetie. He has no place to go."

"Why not?" the child demanded, his bright blue eyes still hung on the stranger. "Where's his family?"

"Not everyone has a family," it was Frank who answered, his voice sounding oddly uneasy. It made Joe look at him. "Or a place to go."

"Your brother's right," their mother's voice was sad.

As Joe watched, a man laden down with shopping bags paused by the old man and dropped something into the cup. The old man nodded his head and the child heard a very gravelly, "Thank you, sir."

"What'd he just give him?" the inquisitive child wanted to know. He was strangely bothered by the idea that this old man had no where to go on Christmas Eve.

"Spare change so he can get a coffee or something to eat," their mother tugged on his hand again. "C'mon, boys, we have to go."

"Wait," Joe persisted, digging his boots into the snow so his mother had trouble moving him. A strange feeling filled him. He tugged off a mitten with his teeth and dug his hand through his coat pockets.

"Joe?" Frank moved towards him to see what he was doing.

A bit more routing and Joe cried out, "Got it!" He opened his hand for his brother to see and in it were three shiny pennies.

Frank frowned. "Joe? What are you doing?"

"Sweetie," Laura Hardy crouched down eye level with her youngest son. "Those are your lucky pennies…."

Joe shrugged, his fingers clenching and unclenching around the money. It was true – they were his lucky pennies. He'd found one and been given the other two by his father a long time ago, and he carried them everywhere with him. They gave him good luck (or so he was sure or else Frank would have killed him when he accidentally flushed Frank's frog pet, Croaker, down the toilet in a bid to give the amphibian some 'pool time'). But – his gaze returned to the old blind man – maybe he could use Joe's lucky money more.

"Can I?" he asked, his blue eyes imploring his mom. "It's all I have – I want to give it to him."

A strange look followed his mother's smile, her eyes seemed to get brighter. She didn't say anything, just seemed to swallow funny before she nodded her head. "Okay, honey. You can give him your money." Her voice sounded odd but Joe shrugged it off as he stepped towards the old man and held out his money.

"It's all I got," he told the man who frowned and shook his head.

"He can't see you," Frank's voice whispered loudly in his ear.

"Oh! I'm sorry! Here," Joe felt his face flush. He bent down next to the man and dropped his three pennies into the cup. "Merry Christmas, mister," he said as he straightened up and turned to leave.

"Merry Christmas to you, youngster," the old man smiled and tipped his head. "And thank you very much."

Suddenly feeling as his chest would burst with warmth, Joe grabbed his mother's hand and held on tight, and the bright smile he had on his face for the rest of the day had nothing to do with the bike he was hoping to see under the tree come the following morning.

* * *

The homeless man watched the little boy practically skip back to his mother and take her hand. It was only once the woman and her two sons were out of sight did he pull the cup in close to his chest and take a look inside.

He saw the little pennies against a handful of silver coins and couldn't help the small smile that curled his lips. Reaching into the cup, he fished out the coppers and held them in his hand. He could still feel the warmth from the little boy's hand that had held them so tightly and he couldn't help the tears that prickled at his perfectly good eyes.

Men measured their wealth in money, and those three little pennies given to him straight from the kindness of a child's heart, made him the richest man in the world.

Standing up, he brushed the snow off the back of his pants, grabbed up the 'BLIND' sign, pulled off the glasses and shoved them into his shirt pocket. It was getting late and he had somewhere he needed to be.

Pocketing Joe's coins, the man dumped the other money he'd collected into a Salvation Army kettle and hurried away.

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

To my lovely anonymous reviewer: 'a former fan': I make no apologizes for what I write or in which fandoms I choose to write them in. Whatever your real issues are, I hope they get better with the New Year.

To everyone else, thank you for your wonderful comments. Merry Christmas!

**Pennies For Christmas**

**Chapter 2**

"Is Daddy home yet?" Joe asked as he wandered down the stairs and into the living room where his mother and brother were setting up a tray of milk and cookies next to the tree, for Santa Claus. Fresh faced and dressed in a pair of warm flannel pj's, his hair still wet from a bath and plastered to his forehead, the six-year-old frowned. "Raisin cookies? Santa doesn't like raisin cookies."

"No, and since when?" Frank asked as he arranged the warm oatmeal raisin cookies on the small ceramic snowman shaped plate.

"Since forever!" Joe couldn't believe he and Frank were related sometimes. "It's a huge known fact that Santa _loves_ chocolate chip cookies." He turned wide eyes on his mother. "Mommy!" He practically wailed as the implications of the _raisin_ cookies hit home. "It's got to be chocolate chip! If it's the wrong cookies, Santa won't bring me my bike!"

"Joe, sweetie," his mother smiled sympathetically. Joe was pretty sure it wasn't held in laughter that shook her shoulders. More like bravely restrained tears, he was sure. "Santa will love these cookies. They are fresh out of the oven and he isn't going to care if they're raisin. He loves cookies of all kinds."

"Plus," Frank butted in, "he'll be tired of all those chocolate chip cookies by the time he gets to our house so he'll be very happy for a change."

Joe stared at his brother like Frank was nuts. He then pointed emphatically at the round little red-suit clad figurine on the mantel of the fireplace. "Does he look like he gets tired of chocolate chip cookies?" Joe went over the figurine and tapped it's very round belly. _"Ever?" _

This time their mother did laugh as she put an arm around the increasingly distraught six-year-old. "It's fine, honey." She tried to console him. "You'll see."

Joe wasn't so sure, but then the living room was lit up in a wide arc of light as a car pulled into the driveway out front. Daddy was home!

Jockeying for position, the boys met their father at the door, their mother's quiet warning not to go outside because it was cold, the only thing keeping them inside. Joe did shiver as a gust of coldness bit through his PJ's when the front door finally opened and then their father was there, a wide smile on his face. Stooping Fenton Hardy swept Joe up in his arms and tousled Frank's dark hair before pulling Frank in against his side and moving his sons away from the door. He used a leg to kick the door shut and then shivered in exaggeration. "Brrr… it _is_ cold out there."

"Daddy!"

"Daddy!"

Twin voices squealed as Fenton dumped first Joe on the couch, then pulled Frank over and started to tickle the two squirming boys. "Who's ready for Christmas?" he asked above their delighted laughter.

"Fenton," Laura's soft voice interrupted after a few moments and Joe grabbed at his father's hands to keep them from stopping although he was laughing so hard from being tickled he was sure his head was going to explode.

"No, boys, your mom is right," Fenton was still smiling as he pulled off his jacket and dropped it over the back of the couch. He rubbed his hands together for a moment. "Left my gloves in the car – I'll have to go out in a bit to get them."

"Fenton," Laura lightly chastised as she picked up his jacket. "We don't have house elves." She did hang it up for him anyways letting out a laugh of her own when Fenton grabbed her around the waist and buried his nose in the back of her neck. "You're cold!" she protested.

Joe rolled his eyes. _Ewww…_ His parents were gross. Now they were kissing!

Beside him, Frank was grinning and with his hair all stuck up from their father's tickling, looked like an absolute goof-ball. Then he remembered his dilemma. "Daddy," moving from the couch, Joe grabbed at his father's shirt and gave it a tug. "Can I talk to you?" He was positive he could get his father to see sense about the whole raisin cookie debauchery. The man looked down at him, his brown eyes warm, his arms still wrapped around Joe's mother. He kinda hated to bother them but this was important.

"Sure, kiddo. What's wrong?"

"Uh-uh," Joe shook his head, glancing across at Frank and then up at his mother briefly. He stood on his tip-toes and whispered loudly so that only his father would hear. "Not here."

"Joe doesn't think Santa is going to like the raisin cookies we're leaving out for him," Frank grinned, his arms folded across his chest smugly. Joe just glared at him – sometimes his brother knew him too well…

"He _has_ to have chocolate chip," he burst out, determined to salvage this and get his father on his side. "Everyone knows that! _Everyone!_"

"No he doesn't," Frank argued back. "You're just being a big baby-"

"I'm not a baby!" Joe protested getting into his brother's space. Them was fighting words.

"Okay, boys, enough." Fenton put a hand on each boy's shoulder and stood between them. "Frank, that wasn't nice," he mildly disapproved then looked at Joe. "Son, I'm sure Santa is going to love those cookies." He glanced at the plate where the still warm cookies scented the room with the smells of cinnamon and vanilla; he licked his lips. "In fact I can guarantee it."

That gave Joe an awesome idea. He shrugged out from his father's hand and picked up the plate. "Why don't you eat them, Daddy? You look hungry."

"Oh, no you don't," his mother intercepted the plate and gave him a small frown. "Enough, Joe. The cookies will be fine. Now stop fussing or I won't let you stay up to watch the movie with us."

Joe couldn't believe his family. Ready to burst into tears (and righteously mortified at the thought) he folded his arms across his chest, in a mirror pose of his brother, and announced. "I don't want to watch some stupid movie with any of you!" Then he turned around and stomped up the stairs. He made it all the way to his room and threw himself down on the bed, face first before the tears actually came. He'd been having such a great day and now it was totally and completely ruined. Santa was never going to bring him his bike now.

_Stupid raisins. _

The sound of a soft knock against the door had Joe burrowing down further against the bed. "G'way." His voice was muffled by the pillow. He was ignored and the door opened.

"Joe?" It was his father. "Son? Can I come in?"

He wanted to say, no, he really did but at the same time he wanted his father to make him feel better too, so instead he sniffled loudly, wiped his snotty nose against his PJ clad arm and nodded, trusting his father to hear his pathetic little "'kay".

The door was closed and then the bed dipped down a moment later. A warm hand was placed in the middle of his back and Joe shivered under its touch.

"You want to tell me what's going on?" His father's deep voice was concerned and held none of the censure Joe was expecting.

Turning the little boy flung himself at the man, his arms wrapping tightly around his father's waist as he burrowed against his side.

"Awww, Joey." His father's arms wrapped around him and he heard a heavy sigh. "It's okay, kiddo. Certainly nothing worth so many tears… C'mon, it's okay."

"No," Joe shook his head against his father's side. "It isn't. Nothing's okay!"

He felt his father push him away as a gentle finger under his chin made him look up and into his father's face. "You want to tell me what's going on?"

"I just tried really, really hard this year to be good so Santa would bring me a new bike and now Mommy and Frank have gone and ruined it all!" Joe sniffled and scrubbed hard at his tear-wet cheek. "Santa's going to think I don't care. He loves chocolate chip cookies and everyone knows he loves chocolate chip cookies and – and-" Joe stopped when his father started to shake his head, his face looking like he was in pain or something. "Daddy?"

"Joey…" Fenton shook his head again, his own eyes suspiciously bright. "Trust me when I say, Santa is _not_ going to think _you_ don't care."

"Do you promise?" Joe asked, his blue eyes wide and imploring.

His father nodded solemnly. "I promise."

Joe considered him for a moment and then sighed. "Okay." He glanced at the closed door and screwed up his face. "Guess I should go 'pologize to Mommy for calling her cookies stupid, huh?"

Now it was his father's face that got crumpled up. "You called the movie stupid, not the cookies."

The six-year-old frowned. He'd forgotten about the movie. "I meant in my head."

"In your head?" his father sounded confused. "I'm sorry, Joe, I'm not following what you're talking about?"

"I called the cookies stupid, in my head." Joe confessed wondering if his father was tired because the man didn't usually have any trouble following along. But then again the detective _had_ been working for the past three days. "I'm glad you're home, Daddy," he admitted giving the man another tight hug, which was returned along with a kiss on the top of his head. Joe wanted to screw up his face and pull away – only baby's needed kisses – but since Frank wasn't here to witness it, Joe decided he'd let it slide. Besides, if he was really honest with himself, it made him feel all warm inside.

Another knock on Joe's bedroom door had him pulling away from his father.

"Dad?" It was Frank.

"Yes, son?"

Frank opened the door and leaned in. His eyes skimmed Joe for a moment before he spoke to their father. "You're wanted on the phone. It's Sergeant Collig."

Joe hadn't even heard the phone ring.

Slowly disentangling himself from Joe, Fenton looked down at him. "Sorry, son, I gotta take this."

The six-year-old nodded, impressed that the police wanted to talk to his father. It made his heart want to burst with pride and he smiled up at the tall man and nodded. "I know. Say hi for me."

Joe and Frank had met the man a couple of times now and while he wasn't exactly a warm and fuzzy guy, the Hardy boys liked him. And Joe, in particular, took great delight in watching the police officer squirm whenever Joe gave him a hug. Kisses were for baby's but as far as Joe was concerned, hugs were a perfectly acceptable way of saying hello and good-bye while Frank had evolved to a limp-noodled handshake for most people. Joe figured it was a seven-year-old thing. He'd know for certain, in a year.

Fenton skimmed a hand through Frank's hair as he left the room getting an indignant 'hey' from the boy that made Joe laugh.

"So, uh," Frank still stood in the doorway, looking a bit uncomfortable. "You still mad at me?"

"Mad at you?" Joe frowned. He figured if anyone was mad at anyone else it was Frank at him for the little scene he'd put up downstairs.

"Yeah, about the cookies…" Dark brown eyes were watching him closely.

Joe thought about his father's promise and shrugged his shoulders. "Nah," he never could stay mad at his brother for very long anyways. "Is Mommy mad at me?" He figured Frank would have the intel on that.

"I don't know," the older boy admitted slowly as he came into the room and stood by Joe's bed. He sat on the edge and picked at a worn spot on the knee of his jeans. Unlike Joe, Frank hadn't had his bath yet. "But I was thinking maybe, you know, if you wanted to… maybe we could sneak down later tonight, after Mom and Dad go to bed and, you know, put out some chocolate chip cookies or something too."

"Really?" Joe looked at his brother with something akin to worship on his face. His big brother thought about everything.

"Yeah, really," Frank smiled and nodded, his confidence building as he started to make plans. "I know there's a bag of chocolate chip cookies in the pantry. It was there this morning when I got out the cereal. See Mom didn't have enough chocolate chips to make both cookies _and_ those square things that Aunt Gertrude loves so she made the oatmeal raisin instead knowing those other cookies were there. So we wait until we hear Dad go to bed and then we'll sneak down stairs and get some of those store cookies for him." He considered Joe seriously for a minute. "Unless you think store bought chocolate chip won't work…" he chewed his lip. "I suppose we could try making some on our own but we'd still need to get the chips…"

"Store bought's fine," Joe quickly interjected before Frank latched on the idea of sneaky baking later tonight. For some reason his older brother was obsessed with baking and used any excuse to try his hand at cooking but it was always with a grownup around, so Joe was a bit nervous about them trying it on their own. Burning down the house on Christmas Eve would probably really put them on the naughty list. Plus then there'd be no one to help them clean up the mess (and hello two little boys cooking? There was going to be a big mess) which Joe hated cleaning up, even if he did like eating the 'mistakes.'

"Well if you're sure…" Frank grumbled.

"I am." Joe grinned and gave his brother a big hug – he loved making Frank squirm too.

"Stop that!" Frank wiggled away from him and tried to glare but ended up grinning instead. "I'll set my Superman watch to wake us up at midnight! Now c'mon, I bet if you told Mom how sorry you are… and how pretty she looks tonight, 'cause all girls like to hear that stuff, I bet she'll still let you watch the movie!"

Beaming happily, his good mood once again restored, Joe Hardy knew he had the best big brother ever.

When Fenton Hardy went downstairs at one in the morning to do his Santa duty, he found himself chuckling and rolling his eyes.

In place of the big soft and chewy home made oatmeal raisin cookies and milk that he had been looking forward to all night, he found two tiny, hard as rock, store bought chocolate chip cookies. Sweet flavored hockey pucks, he decided as he nosily munched them and stared at their little tree.

It wasn't as big or grand as he would have loved for his family, but the past year had been tight financially; the detective business not paying as well as the police force had. But, as he swallowed down the dry cookies and chugged back the house warm milk, he thought about his day and decided he still wouldn't trade anything for the world…

Not even those pathetic excuses for chocolate chip cookies on Christmas Eve.

"You owe me, Santa," he muttered, then slipped a small box wrapped in golden glitter paper under the tree and hurried back to bed.

The tag said _TO: JOE_… but it wasn't a bike.

TBC


	3. Chapter 3

I hope everyone has a wonderful season and an even more wonderful New Year. Phoenix

**Pennies For Christmas**

**Chapter 3**

Joe's eyes popped open –

He held his breath for a moment –

His heart pounded in his chest –

And then he was tearing out of bed, the covers, a blur of color, as they were flung onto the floor.

"Frank!" he yelled slamming through the bathroom and into his brother's bedroom on the other side. "It's Christmas! It's Christmas!"

A shapeless lump under his own covers, Frank's head peeked out, his dark hair mostly standing straight up as Joe practically danced on the spot in front of him. "C'mon! C'mon!" the younger boy hollered, reaching out to yank on his brother's arm. "It's Christmas!"

"Joe?" Frank blinked at him blurrily, and then Joe's words must have hit home because the seven-year-old's face suddenly lit up as he struggled to get out of the bedclothes, gangly arms and legs all akimbo. "Gah!" he cried out when he rolled off the bed and onto the floor only to quickly scramble back to his feet, his covers shoved halfway under the bed.

"Frank?" Joe started to ask if his brother was okay but Frank grabbed his arm and was towing him towards the door.

"Boys?" Their father's voice met them in the hallway, a raspy half yawn. "It's kind of early," Fenton grumbled as he rubbed at his face.

"Oh, Fenton," their mother pushed past him, hastily tying the belt on her housecoat as she smiled at the boys but spoke to their father. "Stop being such a grown-up – it's Christmas!" She leaned up to give him a peck on the cheek. "Merry Christmas, Darling."

Joe rolled his eyes, he was going to say something but Frank jabbed him in the side and gave him a 'keep quiet' glare.

"Ow," Joe muttered and rubbed at his ribs, shooting his brother a look of his own.

"Boys," their mother warned as she looked at them both and then smiled. "Merry Christmas."

"Merry Christmas!" two voices chorused as they dove towards their parents, pajama clad arms wrapping tightly around their mother and father's waists. The hugs returned with warmth and strength.

"Okay, okay," Fenton grinned, his hands skimming the tops of his sons' heads. "Last one down has to – cook breakfast!" The last two words spoken as he made a dash for the stairs, grabbing at Frank and Joe to keep them from pushing past him.

Their mother's laughter followed them down the stairs where Joe suddenly stopped, dumb struck with awe as he saw all the presents under the festively glowing Christmas tree. Just a step ahead of him, Frank was equally affected and for a long moment, neither boy moved and then the spell was broken and the children were under the tree.

"Hold up, hold up," Fenton's voice and strong arm gently pulled Joe backwards and onto his lap. "Frank, wait." The seven-year-old had been reaching for a gift but stopped and looked back. "Let's wait for your mom."

Joe immediately twisted towards the stairs, his body thrumming with excitement as his mother finally entered the room.

"Daddy," he whined, his gaze darting back to the tree and all the wonderfulness underneath it. "Can we now?"

His father's chuckle reverberated against his back as the man relaxed his grip. "Have at it, boys." Then he moved to sit on the couch and watch.

Frank took over, making sure to hand everyone a gift before starting to open his own.

Within minutes the living room was awash in brightly colored wrapping paper, crinkled bows and discarded ribbon as the Hardys' opened their gifts, until everything was unwrapped, except for one.

It was small box wrapped in gold.

And for Joe.

The little boy tried to keep from looking sad when Frank handed him the box. There was no way there'd be a bike in there.

Next to Joe there was a small pile of Transformers, racing cars, coloring books and puzzles and he tried to be grateful and remember all the kids in the world who would get less, but it was hard. So instead he thought about the blind homeless man with a cold bum and nowhere to go, and swallowed down the self-pity as his eyes lit briefly across the expectant faces of his family as they watched.

To Frank, brown eyes shiny with excitement, as if the gift was for him; to his mother, gazing at him warmly, her lips turned up gently as she smiled; and to his father, leaning forward, intensity settling something unreadable on his face.

It made Joe shiver as he started to unwrap the pretty paper on the box. He'd just have to work harder next year he decided and wondered if maybe dares did really count after all.

The breath caught in Joe's throat as he lifted the lid and looked inside –

In the bottom, lying out flat on a fluffy pillow of white cotton, were three shiny pennies…

And a handwritten note.

"Joe?" Frank's voice was next to his ear. "What'd ya get?"

Confused, Joe reached into the box and picked up the coins. He frowned and stared at them closely. They looked like –

"Sweetie?" his mother's voice made him look up and he held out his hand.

"Mommy?" his bottom lip trembled as he didn't understand. How was it possible?

"Your lucky pennies!" Frank cried out taking hold of Joe's wrist and looking intently at the coins. "Santa gave them back?"

Instantly Joe's mother was right there next to him, her fingers warm on his own.

"Is there anything else in the box?" his father's voice was quiet. "A note or anything?"

Tears wobbled in Joe's eyes, his heart pounding hard as he just stared at the pennies he'd wanted the homeless man to have. It was Frank who picked up the note.

"Do you want me to read it?" he asked.

Mutely Joe nodded, his fingers closing tightly around the coins. He barely felt his mother pull him into her lap and start to stroke his hair as he leaned back against her.

Frank opened the note and started to read:

"_Three little pennies were all that you had, but you gave them freely, so I gave them back. _

_Three little pennies, not much of a gift… your bike is outside because you learned how to give.*" _

"Oh my God," his mother's hands flew to her mouth as Joe's eyes fixed on his brother for a moment and then he was up and running for the door, Frank right behind him.

Flinging the door open, he raced outside, ignoring his mother's call to '_wait, put your shoes on'_ and then stopped and stared. There, leaning against his father's car, with a big blue ribbon wrapped around it, was the most perfect bike Joe had ever seen. Shivering, his feet already feeling like icicles as he stood on the wooden porch, Joe just continued to stare.

"Wow."

Frank's soft exhalation broke Joe's trance. He shivered and turned around, his hand still clenched in a fist. "Santa knew," he whispered in awe, opening his fingers and looking down at the coins. "He really knew."

"Well, duh," his older brother scoffed, grabbing his arm and starting to drag him back inside. "He _is_ Santa."

Joe tried to pull back, unwilling to leave his new bike but then his father was brushing past them, a coat over his shoulders, heavy boots on his feet. "Get inside, boys," Fenton told them then fixed Joe with a soft look, "I'll get the bike."

Still reluctant but starting to shiver hard, Joe let himself be tugged towards the warmth of the house. Inside his mother was shaking her head but surprisingly said nothing about it. Instead she gave him a hug and kissed the top of his head. "Go to the kitchen," she said. "I'll be right in to get you some breakfast. How does pancakes, sausage and bacon sound?"

Joe's rumbling stomach and Frank's enthusiastic "Yah!" were answer enough. Pennies held reverently in his fist, Joe followed his brother and wondered about the homeless man. If Santa gave Joe back his money, what did he give him?

"You don't think Santa robbed him, do you?" Joe wondered aloud.

"Who?" Frank asked as he pushed open the door to the kitchen and led them inside. The table was already set, their mother had gotten it ready the night before. He opened the fridge to get the orange juice out.

Joe sat at the table, his lips pursed in consideration. "The man without a home."

"Nah. Santa doesn't take. He gives," reminded Frank as he carefully poured two glasses of juice, frowned at the other two glasses on the table, then poured juice into them as well.

Reassured by his brother's answer (Frank _was_ really smart about these kinds of things after all), Joe took a sip of the juice and watched as Frank drank his own. He thought about his lucky pennies and how it had felt to give them away. Then he thought about his family and how lucky he was and joy curled around Joe's heart and it threatened to burst. _That_ was the true feeling of Christmas and one he'd hold onto all day.

He glanced down once again at the pennies and a smile tugged at his lips. He had one thing left to do.

* * *

Laura Hardy waited until her husband brought the bike into the living room. She watched him, one eyebrow raised in question, her arms folded loosely across her chest.

Fenton leaned the bike against the back of the couch, took one look at his wife and grimaced. "Uh, yeah," he scratched at the back of his neck absently. "Guess, you're wondering about the bike, huh?"

"Actually, no," Laura admitted honestly. "Not about the bike." Although they had decided they couldn't really afford to give Joe such a gift this year, she wasn't completely surprised that her generous husband had somehow come up with one. But that wasn't what she was curious about now. "How'd you know about the pennies?" Laura hadn't told Fenton about the homeless man yet.

"Oh," Fenton slowly started to smile. "About that."

"Yeah." Laura moved closer to wrap her arms around his neck and pull him in for a slow and passionate kiss. "That," she breathed out as she pulled back for a moment and then she gave him a look. Comprehension softening her already affectionate look as emotion brightened her eyes with tears. "You… were the blind man?"

Fenton smiled, his own gaze suspiciously bright. "Yeah," he admitted, compassion roughening his voice. "I was working… undercover. And when I saw you guys – oh God, Laura, and Joe gave me his money?" He pulled her in more tightly and buried his face against his neck. "I- I-" his words were a lost muffle but she understood.

"I know," she admitted, having been touched just as much by the generosity of their child. "Me too…"

They stayed like that for a few moments and then Fenton slowly pulled away. He rubbed at his eyes and shook his head as if to clear it. His gaze moved towards the kitchen door where the boys were. "We are so damn lucky."

"Yes," she admitted, smiling wide and happy. "We are. Now c'mon, before the boys decide to start making breakfast themselves. You know how Frank is…"

Fenton laughed, pulled her in against his side and walked her towards the kitchen. "Yeah," he chuckled, "and I wonder where he got that from?"

"Certainly, not from you," Laura teased back, tickled at his ribs, then dashed just out of reach. The wealth of their family was waiting for them in the kitchen, working their way through a second glass of juice.

While next to each plate, Joe had placed a shiny penny. One that he'd found and two from his Dad…

Merry Christmas, Alaina. Red. Red Hardy.

The End

_*This story and the song Lyrics were based on the Christmas song "Three Little Pennies" by Doug Stone._


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